


Against All Odds

by Professional9100



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: 74th Hunger Games, 75th Hunger Games, Canon Divergence, Child Death, F/M, Quarter Quell, little violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-01-17 15:24:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12368589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Professional9100/pseuds/Professional9100
Summary: Ever heard of the saying "there's two sides to every story"? You're about to hear Katniss's and Peeta's.





	1. The Beginning of Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Back here again writing. I suck at summaries so bear with me.  
> This idea formed waaaay back and I finally got around to writing it and getting it to my beta.  
> I can't say much or else I'll spoil some of the story, but what I CAN say is that I hope you like where I go with this story ;)

“I’m gonna get you, Peeta!”

Peeta heard footsteps coming closer to his hiding spot, the growl in their voice made him burrow deeper into the recesses of the hall closet. He saw the shadow of feet pass by under the door and let out a little sigh of relief. His momentary lapse of safety was short-lived as the pitch black closet was suddenly illuminated by the hallway light, causing him to squint before he was lifted into the air then down then back up again. He laughed without abandon, feeling the secure hold of his mother’s hands underneath his arms assuring him that he was safe.

“I found you!” his mother exclaimed.

Marie pressed her forehead against her son’s, causing their eyes to criss-cross. Peeta giggled. “You know Mommy loves you?” she said softly.

 

Peeta wrapped his arms around his mother’s neck, “Yes, Mommy. I love you too! Can we bake cookies now?” He kicked his feet, a sign of impatience Marie noted, at the prospect of creating cookies again with his daddy.

_Maybe I can use the frosting bag this time_ , Peeta thought excitedly.

Marie smiled and nodded. Turning to go downstairs into the bakery, she couldn’t help but think of how much she cherished these small moments with her youngest son. Growing up with a mother who constantly disapproved of her, not to mention receiving hits every chance she got, it left her feeling worthless and unloved. Marie had a harsh life, but she vowed if she ever had children, they’d receive all the love she had to offer; to give them what she didn’t have, the love she had craved from her mother. 

Her children would never doubt her love. 

Before the memories of pain and the bruises and marks that still mar her skin years later could invade her mind, she entered the kitchen and saw her husband taking out a fresh batch of cookies from the oven for the evening rush. She released a sigh of relief, content to see him in his element. One look at her husband relinquished the dark thoughts and brought warmth to her heart.

He still looked like the same golden-haired nineteen-year-old boy she had met years ago who would make her laugh so hard she’d snort. Phil Mellark was a godsend. He’d swept her off her feet the minute she caught sight of his cerulean eyes that one cloudy day in the park. She remembered feeling a sense of calmness in them. She couldn’t help but trust him.

So it didn’t come as a surprise to her when he had proposed a few months after they agreed to go steady, her not hesitating on her profound “Yes!”. Marie had no worry about Phil’s parents questioning the quick marriage as they had always adored her. 

“It was always going to happen dear, the question was when.” Her mother-in-law had said before walking Marie down the aisle with her father-in-law by her side.

Phil surprised his new wife with a small two-story apartment and welcomed their son Rye the following year. Three years later another son named Peeta joined the family.

Marie was thankful for a husband that loved her and for giving her two sons that she absolutely adored.

“Daddy!” Peeta shouted as he hopped down from his mother’s arm and rushed around the counter to his father’s side.

“Peeta, my boy,” he ruffled his son’s curly blond hair, an exact replica of his, “are you ready to start frosting these?” he pointed to the pan he just placed down on the counter. Peeta nodded eagerly, his blond curls bouncing around his head causing his father to release a chuckle at his son’s eagerness. He lifted Peeta onto the counter and fetched their aprons hanging on a hook in the mudroom. 

Upon returning, Marie stopped him with a hand on his chest and kissed him, his smile just as broad and beautiful as the one he gave her when they first kissed reflected back at her. “Where’s Rye? I thought he’d be here with you?”

“In the front helping out with the evening rush.” He responded.

Assured of her other son’s whereabouts, Marie pulled up a stool and spent some time admiring her husband teaching her baby boy how to frost. 

The sound of the kitchen door swinging open a few minutes later pulled her gaze away from a frost-covered Peeta to her oldest son’s worried blue orbs. 

“Mom, Dad, Mr. Snow is here again.”

Marie and Phil shared a look before standing and moving to the front of the store. Phil placed his hand on Rye’s shoulder as he passed him, “Watch Peeta for a little bit. Let him eat all the cookies he wants.” He gave a small smile before leaving the room. 

As Rye tried distracting Peeta, his parents stood facing President Snow. 

Both parents recalled the last conversation with Snow just a few weeks earlier..

_Marie was scribbling an order down for a cake delivery when the bell jingled._

_“I’ll be right with you!” she called without looking at the person who just came in. She caught a whiff of something that made her want to gag. Done with her task, she smiled in greeting to the customer. Then had frozen in shock. I know those snakelike eyes anywhere, she thought. Her back straightened and an involuntary shiver ran down her spine as his penetrating gaze examined her as he always did when they were kids._

_She cleared her dry throat before speaking in a fake cheerful voice, “What brings you here Coriolanus?”_

_A crooked smile appeared on his face as he silently viewed the contents inside of the glass case next to him. “Oh, just visiting my dear old step-sister. I hear it’s someone’s birthday today.” His eyes darted to hers then back down the case, “I’d like this here.” He pointed at a blueberry muffin and Marie handed it to him meanwhile periodically watching the kitchen door in hopes her husband would walk through it soon._

_“Yes, Peeta’s. He’s turning six.” She moved back behind the register, fisting her left hand to hide the trembling before he saw, “That’ll be $2.75.” She took the five dollar bill and kept the rest at his insistence._

_“I’ve got a gift for him, if you don’t mind fetching him,” he announced abruptly, “I’ll wait.” He threw his finished muffin in the trash bin next to the front counter and dug in his coat for a minute before revealing a wrapped rectangular box with a bow on top. Nodding, she ran up the steps that lead to the upstairs apartment to find her husband and shared the news of Snow’s abrupt appearance._

_Marie reluctantly seized Peeta’s hand and made her way back downstairs, her husband trailed behind her. As Snow and Peeta talked quietly at one of the tables, Phil steered Marie to the side and whispered so as not to be heard by Snow, “We need to tell him now. He needs to know.”_

_“I know that. Let me keep thinking of a way--”_

_Phil cut her off before she could finish, “No, Marie! I don’t want him near our sons,” he looked over her shoulder, “Especially Peeta. He’ll understand about the move.”_

_She watched Snow warily. The way he looked at her youngest was something that could only be described as hawk-like; possessive, protective and calculated. She didn’t take comfort in her husband’s words, instead she had a feeling Snow would not understand in the slightest._

_She’d always been afraid of her step-brother. As kids, she noticed mysterious things would happen if he never got his way or were taken by surprise. There was a time when a friend of Snow’s embarrassed him in front of a crowd of people. The next day news had spread that said friend would be bedridden for weeks. No one had heard what ever happened to him until a month later. His mother’s cries in front of his tombstone for her son to not leave her was etched in Marie’s mind for years to come._

_Once Snow concluded his short conversation with Peeta and had passed his gift to him, Marie and Phil sent him back with his brother and followed Snow out the door. Marie inhales a deep breath before breaking the news of their upcoming move, her husband’s comforting hand on her shoulder._

_Snow stilled for a moment before asking, “Where will you be moving to?” He locked his fingers together as they explained they were undecided but felt the move should happen sooner rather than later. Taking a long moment observing the interior of the store he said, “You truly made this establishment one of the best in the Capitol. It is a shame all your hard work and accomplishments will have been for nothing.” He grinned at them, the gagging smell hitting Marie again. She suppressed the urge to cover her nose. “Thank you for the muffin.” His figure disappeared into the night with no glance back at the couple._

Phil broke the silence first, “Snow, pleasure seeing you here again.” Although he spoke in a calm manner Marie caught the underlying tone of bitterness. She side-eyed her husband, his jaw clenched in anger and instantly reached out to comfort him. “How can we help you?”

Snow approached the counter slowly and stopped right in front of Marie. She swallowed the bile that rose from her throat at his close presence and tried to stand tall.

“Hello, dear step-sister.”

“Hello, Coriolanus.”

His sinister smile stretched across his face as if he won a grand prize. “I’d like to see my nephews before you leave on your trip. Who knows when it will be when I can see them again?”

She had to clear her throat as she uttered, “Of course.” Her legs stiffly climbed to the upstairs loft, her husband behind her. As they made their way to the boys’ bedroom Phil started, “Why did you say yes to him?”

Marie released a heavy sigh, “I didn’t want to see what he would do if I said no.” Phil stopped her in the living room, her trembling arm a telltale sign of her worries before she pulled it from his grasp. “Please don’t,” she whispered desperately, her lips quivered making her stutter, “I don’t w-want to rem-ember.”

Seeing his wife in such distress from reliving her past, he guided her into his arms where she proceeded to soak his shirt with her tears. Patting her back he repeatedly murmured “I’m here,” in her ear, waiting for her tears to ebb.

After a minute Marie composed herself. “I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes downcast. Phil just grabbed her chin, aimed his charming smile at her tear-streaked face and gave her a loving kiss in answer before walking hand in hand toward Rye’s and Peeta’s bedroom.

“Boys!” The two children turned at their father’s call, “Come downstairs to say goodbye to Mr. Snow, you can play later.” Rye set down his book and Peeta put down his crayons and left their shared bedroom with their parents hovering anxiously behind them.

The foursome crossed the door that lead to the backyard where Snow was waiting. At the sight of the two boys, Snow’s smile reappeared. He caught their hands and sat down on the bench underneath the apple tree as Rye and Peeta settled on the ground.

“C’mon, honey, let’s go finish packing.” Phil coaxed his wife away from the scene outside by tugging her arm, distracting her by any means. _I’ll do anything just to see her smile again,_ he thought desperately.

..........

_Peeta wasn’t his usual cheerful self when he was around Mr. Snow,_ Rye thought. His little brother merely sat quietly and revealed small smiles occasionally as Mr. Snow talked to him about his son who “plays in the playground up in the sky” that looks exactly like him. Rye wasn’t surprised, he could tell something was strange about this man who kept coming around to see Peeta. He always asked for both of them when he dropped by but he ignored Rye. He would rather be in his room reading than be forced to stay where he clearly wasn’t needed.

Rye was pulling blades of grass from the ground, counting how many he picked up before tossing them and starting over again when Mr. Snow commanded his attention, “Rye, I need a minute alone with Peeta. I’ll see you before I go.”

Rye got up and left, looking over his shoulder twice to see Mr. Snow eyeing him all the way to the back porch.

Once inside, Mr. Snow turned back to Peeta, patted the seat next to him and continued the conversation as before. Rye rolled his eyes and crossed the room wondering which of his favorite books he would read when he slowed to a halt as he heard a hissing sound in the kitchen near the ovens. A familiar high pitched giggle alerted him that he was not alone and practically sprinted up the stairs two at a time to avoid a repeat of last week’s awkward storage closet incident. Completely forgetting all about what he had heard earlier.

His mother’s and father’s laughter echoed in the hallway that lead to his shared bedroom with Peeta. Curious, Rye followed their voices. Before reaching the door, he heard the telltale soft, upbeat music playing. He leaned against the door frame, hands in his pockets, and watched his parents silently with a smile on his face, reminiscing about the times when he was younger as his parents took turns holding him and baby Peeta, swaying and singing to the music.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear his mother calling his name. He blinked furiously, “Sorry, Mom, was just thinking about something. What’d you say?”

“I said what are you doing up here? Aren’t you suppose to be with Peeta?” She crossed her arms and peered down the window that overlooked the backyard, frowning down at Mr. Snow alone with Peeta.

“He wanted me to leave so he can talk to Peeta about something alone. He said he’ll see me before he goes.” Rye shrugged indifferently while his mother never moved an inch. “I have a question. Why does Mr. Snow only like Peeta and not me?” He wasn’t jealous or anything, he couldn’t care less, but every time Mr. Snow visited he would only have eyes for his little brother. It was weird and he figured his parents knew something about it.

Phil bent down to his son’s level and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Snow is a complicated person who shows his feelings differently to everyone,” his father replied. Before he could say anything else on the matter, he sniffed the air. His nose wrinkled at the smell. “What is that?”

CRASH!

Phil ran down the stairs to see what caused the noise while Marie grabbed her eldest son around the shoulders, holding him tightly to her. She saw her husband’s back straighten and heard his sharp inhale. “The bakery’s on fire! The whole kitchen is up in flames! We have to go, Marie! NOW!

Marie could not move.

It could not be true.

She had a bad feeling in her gut that had nothing to do with the fire.

Rye and Phil both grabbed her arms and led her to the window. Phil propped it open and saw on his left a trellis wall. It’ll have to do, he thought.

They swiftly climbed down and ran to the end of the street before hearing a loud boom in the direction of their home.

For a moment they stood watching the flames consume their home, until Marie’s cry interrupted the silence.

“PEETA!”

Marie fled at quick speed, stopping when she saw it.

The bench under the tree was empty. She furiously searched for a flash of blond locks anywhere near her to no avail. He was gone. And so was Coriolanus.

Goosebumps rose on her skin.

Rye’s words echoed in her ears, “Why does Mr. Snow only like Peeta and not me?”

His surprise visits at the bakery.

Always asking for Peeta’s whereabouts.

It all clicked.

Marie crumbled to the ground, overcome with grief. She didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t.

How could she had been so stupid, so naive to not know what Coriolanus had been planning all along?

“Peeta, I’m sorry.” It was the last thing she remembered before she collapsed in exhaustion.

.........


	2. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mellarks are taken in by Phil's parents as they try to recover from the destruction of their home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to have this out sooner but life got in the way these past few weeks. I recently lost my uncle and soon after that finals began. I was also writing something on the side for @loveinpanem 's A Candle for the Caribbean. You should go check that out, by the way! It's got contributions from many writers (including myself) in different fandoms in favor of the victims of Hurricane Maria. Just donate $10 and you'll be able to read them. It's for a worthy cause. 
> 
> On a different note, enjoy this long overdue chapter :)

With nowhere left to go, the three Mellark’s fled to Phil’s parent’s home.

There was where Marie awakened from her fainting outside the burning remains of the Mellark home.

As she was coming to, she observed her surroundings. The cross-stitched pillows on the wingback chairs and couches that show patterns of flowers, trees, a little girl and a mother walking through a patch of grass, and a mockingjay, the turquoise and green wallpaper, and the portrait of two newlyweds hanging atop the fireplace.

Marie sniffed the air to be certain. She smiled. The familiar scent of jasmine in the air was a dead giveaway that she was at Phil’s home. _But why am I laying down? I don’t remember us coming here?_

A thought popped in her head if the bakery on fire, Coriolanus’ appearance and losing Peeta was all just a silly dream.

“Oh!” There was a sharp pain near her left temple that caused her to cry out in pain, alerting everyone in the room of her presence. Phil was by her side in an instant.

“Honey, you’re awake!” His eyes glistened with tears as he wrapped her in a tight embrace. “I thought I lost you too.” He muffled into her neck as she felt him shaking in her arms.

His actions confused Marie but she still tried to soothe his worries by combing her fingers through his hair. It was a trick she learned during their few months of dating that got Phil to relax. It worked as his breathing slowed down and he loosened his grip on her.

She shook her head in disbelief, “What are you talking about? I can’t remember how I got here?”

A hand fell on her shoulder that belonged to Phil’s mother. Her mouth opened as if to speak but the sound of the capitol anthem blaring from the screen in the corner of the room stopped her. President Snow’s face filled the screen next which caused Marie to recoil out of habit.

He was standing in front of a podium, his mansion in the background, with a few people surrounding the grounds.

“It is with a heavy heart that I announce my dear sister, her husband, and one of their sons lost their lives in a tragic accident at their bakery.” He paused as the crowd gasped and cried in horror. “However, by some form of miracle, one of her children was able to escape.” Snow beckoned to someone out of frame to come closer. The camera peers out and a small child comes into view. “The last of the Mellark family, Peeta.”

It was true then.

She didn’t need anyone to tell her what had happened. Her fears were confirmed.

Peeta had tears running down his face. He kept wiping his runny nose and never once looked up as Snow’s speech droned on.

“NOOOO!” Marie wailed.

Her head fell on her hands. Her face was wet with her tears.

_He took him. He took him. He took him._

She was rocking back and forth on the couch.

Her mother’s harsh voice entered her thoughts. “You’re worthless, Marie! A failure! Can’t do anything right. You are a horrible excuse of a daughter!”

Hands were trying to pry hers from her face but Marie wouldn’t budge. She didn’t want to get smacked again. “Stop!” she moaned. “Stop, mother, please!”

A voice she knew more than her own whispered in her ear, “It’s not real. She’s not real, Marie.” A pressure on her forehead and his warm breath cascading over her face helped her hone in on reality. “I’m here and I won’t let her touch you.” His touch is what she felt next. It left a burning sensation on her skin.

A few breathing exercises and Marie was no longer trapped in her memories.

She opened her eyes and found his comforting blue ones.

“Are you okay?” She nodded.

For that brief moment, Marie felt like nothing could go wrong.

.........

Rye, after having witnessed, along with his grandparents, his mother’s breakdown walked over to his parent’s and hugged them. He wasn’t much of a hugger. His brother was the more affectionate one. With Peeta no longer here, he felt it was his job to take his brother’s place. Until he returned. And he would. He did not want to think otherwise.

Rye was scared. Peeta was kidnapped by a madman, his home was all but gone, his mother was experiencing one of her episodes, and he had lost a friend. Of course he felt bad for the other two workers who perished in the fire, but he was never as close to them as he was to his friend, Mark.

Mark was nice and helpful. Rye would remember his conversations with him-tips on how to score with girls and the easy banter they had when often paired together during shifts. Sometimes he’d entertain Peeta when Rye was stuck babysitting while his parents went out. And he was as close to the Mellarks as anyone, always around during holidays and stayed behind to clean up or pick up the deliveries from the truck.

Rye hated that he would never see him again.

He stood up abruptly and left the room before anyone could say a word.

Rye’s grandfather found him in the closet. He knocked on the door. “You gonna let me in?”

Silence. Then, the sound of the latch unlocking and the door being swung open was invitation enough for him to step through and see Rye crouched on the floor with his head on his knees.

“You really going to make me bend down?” No answer. He sighed dejectedly and proceeded to sit down next to his nephew. He released a few grunts, adjusted into a more comfortable position, then peered down at the disheartened boy. “What’s going on son? Something you want to get off your chest? I’ve heard it helps.” Rye shook his head that was still on his knees.

He knew Rye was different than Peeta. Rye never showed his emotions, tending to hide them and bury them instead. Grampa Mellark knew if he pushed him a little more, Rye would burst.

“I know you feel confused. Scared. Lost. I wish what is going on right now didn’t have to happen. No one deserves to lose someone you love, someone you care about like this. It’s okay to cry, Ryland. It’s okay to feel the way you feel. It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you stronger.”

With that being said, Rye let go and released his pent up emotions. Grampa Mellark held his grandson close as he rubbed soothing circles on his back.

“I miss him too.” he whispered among Rye’s cries of anguish.

.........

It took all the Mellarks a few moments to compose themselves before all meeting back in the living area.

Phil’s mother and father came to the conclusion that saddened them both, however they knew it had to be done.

_Our loving family torn apart by greed and selfishness and the only person who could fix it is now in the hands of a monster. Now that he stole the light in our lives, he’ll never let him go,_ Grandma Mellark thought.

_I’ll be damned if I let him take anyone else in my family away._

“You have to leave the Capitol.” She announced.

Her statement hung in the air for a long moment before her son stood, ready to object her proposal but she was having none of it.

She raised her hand, halting anything he might have retaliated, “Don’t try to tell me I’m wrong, Philip. You are not safe here. Any of you.” She locked her gaze with her daughter-in-law and grandson. “I fear only more danger if you stay here, exposed as you are. That bastard thinks you all are dead. We need to use that to our advantage before the window of opportunity is gone.”

Marie, shocked at the thought of leaving her family behind, started shaking her head. “I don’t care what happens, I want to stay.”

The woman who was more her mother than her real one ever was gave her a trembling smile.

Natalie Mellark gathered her daughter-in-law’s hands and held them in her own.

Natalie would miss Marie most of all.

After hearing the story of Marie’s upbringing, Natalie grew protective of her soon-to-be daughter. She took her under her wing and guided her into motherhood when Marie voiced her fears of not being the perfect mother to her children.

“There is no such thing as a perfect mother.” she had told her. “There will be good times and bad times. The most important thing to remember is to always treat them with love and care.”

Natalie and Marie grew close as the years went by.

It would be hard to let her daughter go, no matter how safe she would be if she left.

“Momma--”

“Go, my child. We will be together again.”

Marie hugged her for a long time then they all began the preparation of escaping the Capitol.

........

_Being related to a seamstress had its perks,_ Marie thought as she, Phil and Rye were disguised as common Capitol folk.

It was past sundown, the dark sky providing good cover for the three Mellarks to walk all the way to the train station in the open streets.

Phil had the money for the three tickets they were to purchase to District 12.

“I’ve heard they’re very lax. You can blend in easily there.” Natalie had said.

Once there, Phil and Marie were to concoct a story of being newlyweds and along with their son open a bakery.

Money for clothes and other necessities along with a stitched pillow of a mother and daughter holding hands, the trio said their last goodbyes and vanished into the night.

For a moment, there seemed to be hope.

........

Three harsh knocks sounded on the door before it opened with a creak.

A man cleared his throat to announce his arrival.

“Yes?”

“Sorry, sir. Just wanted to confirm we have found three bodies in the rubble of the old bakery.”

President Snow finished scribbling in the document before he placed his pen down and gave the man a manic grin. “Excellent.”

The man nodded, pleased to see the President happy. He didn’t want to end up like the man before him. “If that is all, I shall be going--”

He stopped when he saw President Snow lift up his hand. He had a certain gleam in his snake-like eyes.

_Uh oh. This can’t be good._

“I want you to search for a Natalie and Matthew Mellark. I believe our work is not yet finished.”

.........

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I failed to mention a little note from the first chapter so I'll add it here.  
> I'm making canon Peeta's upbringing be his mother's while Peeta gets a whole new lifestyle. There's hardly any nice Mrs. Mellark's in the fandom and I wanted my story to have Peeta with a loving mother. 
> 
> My beta questioned a few things about this chapter and I want to make a note to clear up any confusion.   
> Towards the end where the Mellarks escape and flee to D12, the money came from Phil's mother. She's a very well-known seamstress in the Capitol and had given the Mellarks enough money to start a new life. As I said in the story, once they arrived at District 12's train station, they would go to the Justice Building and remarry, change all their names and purchase an abandoned building to then be D12's bakery.
> 
> Most of this would be cleared up in future chapters but I'll save you the wait and tell you now. Any more questions you may have, feel free to ask and I'll answer them. 
> 
> Merry Christmas! :D


	3. Looks Can Be Deceiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow got what he wanted: Peeta. But why did he want him in the first place?  
> As Peeta tries to fit in to his new life, can a new friend make living with his Uncle bearable?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Child's death, mention of suicide and violence

There was once a man full of hatred who met a woman who was pure at heart. He thought no one would ever fall for a man like him, but she loved him despite his faults. The Man, convinced of her devotion of him, soon let go of his inhibitions and grew to love her in return. 

They were so deeply in love they were engaged and pregnant with a child six months after meeting one another.

Everything was perfect.

As time went on, The Man began spending longer and longer hours at his work and less time with his wife and two-year-old son at home. The wife, lonesome and growing tired of his empty responses to her questioning as to why is it that he doesn’t come home as often anymore, berated him. And he, in answer, slammed the front door in her face.

One day, the doorbell rang and The Woman’s friend was on the other side. After laying her son down, she spoke about her husband’s increasing absence and their fights to her longtime friend. He comforted her and visited her more often. They grew closer as his visits continued. During one night as the friend was departing, he leaned down and accidently kissed her lips as she turned to face him. His apology was swallowed by her eager lips seeking his soft ones.

This was how the husband came to find his wife having returned home early.

The friend fled and The Man was livid at his wife’s infidelity.

“I do as you ask and this is what I get in return?!” he screamed.

She tearfully apologized but he stormed out of the room.

A few days passed and The Man invited the friend over to his home while his wife and son were out. The Man handed over a cup with poison in its contents to the friend and watched greedily as he sipped until there was no more. Immediately, the friend collapsed. It was at this moment The Woman and child came back from their walk. The Woman, seeing her friend on the floor near her husband’s feet lying still, ran to his side and searched for a pulse on his wrist. But it was too late. There was nothing there.

She laid her head against her friend’s back, her tears soaking his shirt, while calling his name over and over again with no answer. The Woman looked up and saw The Man’s satisfied eyes watching her from above.

His job complete, The Man led his son away from his hysterical mother and tucked him into bed.

  
  


Two years flew by and there came the day of their son’s fourth birthday.

The Man went in search of a gift that lasted almost the entire morning. Upon arriving home during midday, he noticed how quiet the house was. Curious, he stepped into the kitchen where he had last seen his son and wife before leaving.

The gift slipped from his loose fingers as he took in the sight before him.

His wife and little boy were on the floor.

The Man went to the boy first. His tiny hands were crossed over his unmoving chest, his cheeks no longer warm to the touch.

“Joseph, no!”

The Man carefully brushed a blond lock away from his son’s face with a trembling hand as he realized his son was dead.

Something on the boy’s lips caught The Man’s eye. Upon closer inspection, he saw his lips were purple as if he consumed a drink of some kind.

Observing the area around him, within reach of his wife, he found three purple berries that The Man knew were nightlock berries. There was also a note with purple fingerprints on it next to The Woman that The Man picked up and read.

_You took someone from me. Someone I cared about. Now, I took someone you cared for._

He crumbled the note and flung it away from him in disgust. He then cradled his son’s lifeless body in his arms and wept over him. Kissing his hair, he murmured, “I love you, Joseph.”

  
  


The Man moved on with his life. Bitterness and greed consumed him once again.

On a visit with his step-mother in the hospital two years after his wife and son’s death, he came upon a picture that was left forgotten on the bedside table of his step-sister along with her spouse and two children. As he was about to toss it in the trash, he caught sight of one of the boys.

_Joseph? No. It can’t be._

The youngest of the two children closely resembled his deceased son, the exception being the cerulean eyes.

The Man’s finger hovered over the little boy’s cheek.

“My Joseph. My boy. You live.”

_It is time I pay a visit to my dear step-sister_ , The Man thought. A plan already beginning to form.

.............

Peeta Mellark was not always a sad child.

Neighbors and friends would say the opposite. He was a bright and joyful little boy who could make the most delicious confections, better than the baker himself. He was also generous and very kind. Not to mention good-looking. Some of the little girls would blush and hide behind their mother’s leg when Peeta was up front helping carry out orders.

Then a tragedy happened where the bakery went up in flames and Peeta was the only survivor.

His loving family had gone, leaving him despondent.

Coriolanus Snow took it upon himself to offer his home to his nephew in his time of need. Peeta followed behind Snow after taking one long look at his home, sending a farewell to his family by touching the three middle fingers on his left hand to his lips and raising it high. _Just like momma taught me._

After the public announcement of his family’s death, Peeta remembered his grandparents lived not too far from his old home. Hopeful that not all was lost, he begged and pleaded with Snow if he could see them.

_They will understand. Gran-gran’s hugs are so like Momma’s. And Pa will tell me everything will be alright, as long as we’re together. I need them. I need to see them._

Snow could see how much Peeta cared for his grandparents. Gone was the boy whose spirit was broken by the sight of his childhood home engulfed in flames. His eyes gleamed with hope and he had a smile across his face so wide it stretched from ear to ear. _Just one visit and he’ll be asking for more._ Snow knew it would only be a matter of time before Peeta chose to stay with them permanently. _I did not plan my step-sister’s demise only for him to go running to his sickeningly-sweet grandparents! He is mine!_

Snow agreed for the both of them to visit another day. Peeta retreated to his new room, crestfallen at not leaving when he wanted to and having to wait. The next morning, Peeta ran to Snow’s office and calmly asked at what time they could depart. In answer, Snow clicked a button underneath his desk. A screen popped up that showed his two remaining family members with their hands crossed over their chests on top of their bed, eyes closed as if they were asleep.

“There is no easy way to say this, son. Your grandparents died last night. I think the pain was too much to bear and they slipped away in their sleep.”

Peeta stared at the wall. Tears fell silently down his cheeks but he didn’t move to wipe them away.

“I’m sorry, son. Truly, I am.”

Peeta stood motionless.

_Everyone is gone. Now, I am alone. I don’t want to be alone. I want them all back._

“...I know how you feel. I lost my step-mother and s--”

Snow stopped speaking when Peeta left the room in the middle of the conversation. Peeta fell face down on his stiff pillow and stayed there all day and night. Not moving an inch unless he had to go to the restroom.

Stay in his room, stare at the wall, ignore the food on the bedside table, don’t talk to anyone. That became his routine.

He tried not to sleep for fear of nightmares. He’d lie awake or roam the empty halls around the manor if he got too tired to fight the sleep. No one was up to berate him to return to bed. If they had, Peeta would only hide in small places where no one would think to find him. Sometimes he’d fall asleep in the spaces he occupied and when he woke up, he’d think it was one of his mother’s games of hide and seek. Then, reality would set in and his heart would break just a tiny bit more.

  
  


Snow, having seen the changes in Peeta over the past few months, grew tired of his nonsense and ordered for his servant Portia to call Dr. Aurelius for a vial of medication to help cure Peeta’s sadness. Portia had taken a liking to the boy and couldn’t proceed with the President’s wish. She knew what exactly was inside the medicine Snow was thinking of administering to Peeta. Instead, she simply decided to speak to him.

She knocked three times then opened his door silently. The afternoon sun shining through the partially opened curtains was the only source of light in the room. She saw blond hair hiding beneath the covers and stepped forward gingerly. Sitting on the corner of the bed, Portia contemplated how to proceed.

She cleared her throat. “Peeta? My name is Portia. I’m one of the workers here.” Peeta gave no indication of acknowledging Portia. She coughed awkwardly and scooted closer to the boy. “I wanted to say hello. We’ve never been formerly introduced.” He moved his head a little and she could see the tear tracks on his face.

It pained her to hear of the news of his family’s death. _It’s no fair. He’s far too young to experience such hardship. Why did this have to happen to him? What did he do to deserve this?_

“I’m very sorry for...what happened to you, Peeta. I can’t imagine the pain you’re experiencing. But if you want to talk about it, I’m always available. Night or day.” She leaned forward and whispered, “You are not alone.” With nothing left to say, Portia exited his room. Crossing the doorstep, she looked over her shoulder and caught his gaze before he quickly turned back to stare at the wall. She smiled as she closed the door behind her.

Portia entered his room everyday for the next few weeks, hoping Peeta would say something. Anything. All she received was silence.

One night while on cleaning duty, she heard a scream coming from the direction of his bedroom. Running as fast as she could, she reached his door in a matter of seconds. His screams grew louder. Turning the knob, Portia was shocked to see the normally quiet, reserved boy thrashing around on the bed, wailing at the top of his lungs. She rushed to Peeta’s side to calm him down, raising her hand to brush his cheek.

“Shhh! Peeta! You are dreaming! Wake up!” She clutched his shoulders and spoke above his shouting. “PEETA! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! IT IS A DREAM!” Finally, he stopped. He woke trembling from the nightmares he witnessed and saw Portia seated in front of him.

He hiccuped and cried, “I w-want them b-b-back.”

“Oh, Peeta.” Portia gathered the crying boy into her arms and rocked him. She swallowed the lump in her throat and whispered into his hair, “I wish they were.”

They stayed locked in their embrace for a long time. At some point, Portia stopped rocking and simply held Peeta close. She glanced over and saw his eyes were shut. His breathing was deep and even. He was asleep.

She leaned down and kissed his forehead. Setting him against his pillow, she pushed the sheets up to his neck and tucked him in. With no intention of leaving, Portia sat in her usual spot and watched over the boy. She frowned at the prominent dark circles under his eyes due to lack of sleep. The next thing she noticed was how much smaller he was in his night clothes. _He is so tiny, so weak._ She vowed to bring him something to eat with every visit she made and make sure he ate it.

It wasn’t long after that when Peeta began to open up. Portia soon became his confidant and over the years he grew to care for her as she did him. Although, there were times when he would push her away for fear that she was replacing his deceased mother; her listening to his troubles with Snow, the comforting embraces when he’d wake from the recurring nightmares, praising his art, and helpful advice were all a painful reminder that the person who was supposed to be there for these moments was gone.

“No, Peeta.” Portia tipped his chin up and smiled softly. “I would do no such thing. She has your heart as you have hers. She will always be with you. Remember that.” She embraced him and after a second, he hugged her back. “Nothing can come between a mother and son. I am merely your friend.”

Peeta thought maybe he wasn’t entirely alone in the world as long as he had Portia.

..........

Peeta’s fifteenth birthday was full of surprises.

Portia brought in a cake that read ‘Happy Birthday, Chickadee’ to which Peeta sent her a look that said “really?”. Portia kissed his cheek in answer. He blew out the candles and asked for the same thing he wished for every year.

_I wish to be happy._

Snow’s cough echoed in the room seconds later, interrupting Portia cutting another piece of cake. Snow stared at Portia with a bored expression on his face, but his tone had a bite to it. “Return to the job I hired you for: _cleaning_ not baking. Peeta, come with me.” He didn’t wait for his response. Peeta quickly took a bite of his cake, bid Portia a goodbye and jogged after Snow.

Peeta frowned as he was directed to the only chair in his uncle’s office, knowing how stiff and uncomfortable it was to sit on. Snow clasped his hands atop his desk and smiled down at the young boy. Peeta had picked up on Snow’s facial expressions the last few years and knew when he smiled, there was never good news.

“My dear boy, as a present for your fifteenth birthday, you will be enlisted to begin training as a Gamemaker to then be promoted to Head Gamemaker. It is a lot of responsibility so I expect nothing but the best from you. I’ve already scheduled you to start in two days as you will be taking the role as Head Gamemaker in two years’ time. Plutarch Heavensbee is fully--”

Peeta slammed his fist down against the mahogany desk so hard, everything on the surface almost tumbled to the ground. “STOP!”

Normally, Peeta would reluctantly obey any decision his uncle set for him. However, he crossed the line with him being anywhere near the Games. Peeta loathed the Gamemakers as they were the ones in charge of the Hunger Games.

“I refuse to be a part of that atrocity that finds murder entertaining!”

“JOS--Peeta!” Snow stumbled. “This is not the way-”

“I don’t care about manners! This is madness! How could you-OW!”

A sharp smack across his face silenced him from continuing. Never had Peeta’s parents resorted to violence, from what he could remember, when it came to disciplining him or his brother. Portia would only reprimand him then leave him alone. He was stunned that Snow used a harsher approach.

Snow had walked around his desk and stood face-to-face with Peeta. The smell of blood and a hint of roses filled his nostrils, making Peeta move his hand from his burning cheek to cover his nose.

Snow’s eyebrows were bunched together, eyes open and glaring as he barked at the frightened boy. “Do not defy me, do not raise your voice at me and DO NOT tell me what to do! Do you understand me?”

Peeta gulped. “Yes, sir.”

His uncle’s apology for hurting him sounded fake in Peeta’s ears but he merely nodded.

“We will discuss this later, when you’ve come back to your senses and start to respect me again.” Snow dismissed him and the young boy immediately went in search of Portia. She fetched an ice pack as soon as she spotted the red mark on her friend’s face.

After explaining what all happened, Peeta sighed. “I don’t want to do this. It makes me feel dirty and like a murderer. I’ll be in charge of the Games until Snow says I can step down. I’ll be there forever!” He wailed as he dropped his head. “A monster set on killing innocent children.”

She moved her chair closer and bent down to catch his gaze. “Now, Peeta,” she began in a comforting tone, “You stop that mess! You are not like any of those blood hungry savages. You are a strong-minded boy who would use this power for good.” Her hand fell against his shoulder. He peeked up at her through his long lashes. “Turn it around. Do something different than what others before you have done. I believe in you.”

“But what if I have to,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “kill someone?”

“If I know you as well as I do, it won’t ever come to that. Talk to Heavensbee. I’ve heard he’s just like you. Kind. Good. Very different than Snow. Okay, chickadee?” She poked Peeta in the stomach, causing him to giggle.

“Stop! You know I’m ticklish.” He wrapped his arms around her slim frame, thankful that she took pity on a small boy and gave him hope even when he felt there was none left.

...........

“How well did he do today, Plutarch?” Snow asked.

“I say we have ourselves a fine candidate for Head Gamemaker of Panem, Mr. President. He is perfect. Outstanding, if I may add.”

Snow flashed a pleased smile at Plutarch’s praises of Peeta’s training going well. “Wonderful. Thank you, Plutarch.”

“Pleasure is all mine. See you in a few days, Peeta.” Plutarch winked at Peeta as he said his farewell and exited Snow’s office.

Peeta nodded after Plutarch then waited for Snow to compliment his progress and send him on his way back to his room, as he was accustomed to after his studies were completed. However, tonight was different.

“Come, Peeta. There is something you need to see.”

Curious, Peeta walked out to Snow’s balcony that overlooked his garden. A little farther out, he could see smoke billowing in the night sky. There was a Peacekeeper standing near a burning fire throwing objects into the flames. One object in particular looked familiar to Peeta. He stepped closer and squinted.

_My sketchbook!_

It was a gift Portia bestowed on him for his seventh birthday when he expressed how much he missed drawing for the fun of it, but also to draw out his family members so he wouldn’t forget their faces.

His precious drawings, brushes, colors and paintings were all flung into the flames as well.

Snow addressed the boy next to him. “You have much to learn, my son. What I do, I do out of love. For instance, this hobby of yours is no more. You ought to be focused on your studies. There is no career out of being an artist.”

Peeta took steady breaths to control the tears from falling over. He didn’t want to give Snow the satisfaction of seeing how much this affected him.

As Peeta’s possessions continued to burn down below, Snow reached out and grabbed Peeta’s arm roughly. Peeta could smell the blood in his breath and swallowed back the bile rising in his throat. “I’ve about run out of patience from your outspoken criticisms, Peeta. You _will_ listen to me or so help me I can make it possible for you to never speak again!” He released his arm and shoved him away.

A shiver went down Peeta’s spine at Snow’s threat.“Y-yes, sir.”

“That’s my boy.”

It seemed to Peeta his wish would not come true this year, as it never had before.

_Just give up hope of it ever happening. My life is set before me. There is nothing I can do to change it. Only to accept it and move on._

..........

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Peeta! I feel so bad but he won't be sad for too long.  
> The next chapter will be a time jump of two years told in Peeta's POV and Katniss will make an appearance. 
> 
> I knew I had to come up with something to explain why Snow kidnaps Peeta and it had to be a good reason. In my head, seeing traces of Joseph in Peeta made Snow think he was given a do-over. Snow wouldn't take any chances this time, therefore, he decided to steal Peeta, keeping him within reach.  
> Desperation makes you do crazy things... 
> 
> Originally, Snow's wife and child were to remain nameless. With my uncle's passing still on my mind while writing this chapter, I however thought to give Snow's child my uncle's english translated name, Joseph (Jose). 
> 
> See you guys later! :D


	4. Everything Changes: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peeta struggles coming to terms with what's expected of him as Head Gamemaker. Later, Peeta finds out Portia has a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys!  
> Summer's already started for me and I've been catching up on sleep and binge watching Once Upon A Time since then. :D  
> This chapter has a lot going on, so I thought to split it to make it easier to read it.  
> Hope you guys enjoy it!

_I watch helplessly as the small figure labeled ‘Tribute 8’ on the wide screen in the Control Room swims frantically away from the tsunami that lurks closer and closer behind them, until the wave descends and swallows the tribute up. The person to my right, who is in charge of all the tributes’ trackers, announces 8 is gone. It’s confirmed with the sound of the cannon and the face of the tribute in the sky moments later._

_I look away and bite my cheek to keep from losing my composure in front of my audience._

_It’s when I find my hand hovering over the image of a tsunami that I know what I’ve done._

_I stare at my hand in horror. “No. No. No.” Another scream is heard, then I flinch as the cannon is blasted again._

_BOOM!_

_A wet, scaly hand grabs my shoulder and I scream out in surprise with what greets me._

_It’s my uncle but it’s a warped image of him. He has brown, scaly skin with claws instead of fingernails and an oddly shaped head. His eyes are cat-like and deadlier looking than normal._

_He lets out a hiss, revealing his forked tongue and steps closer to me._

_“Well done, my boy. My Jossseph. You have proven to be the bessst ssson I could have hoped for.”_

_He reaches out and wraps his cold, wet hand around my neck and squeezes. I try to remove it, but his grip is too strong._

_“I thought you were a good boy, Peeta. You killed sssomeone.”_

_BOOM!_

_He pauses when we hear the cannon sound again. Snow’s smile stretches from ear to ear, revealing his sharply pointed fangs and leans forward until we’re nose to nose. “Ssseemss we are alike, you and I.”_

_I kick my legs out and scratch his scaly hands to loosen his hold on me, but it’s no use. He continues watching me struggle to gather air into my burning lungs._

_“Doesss thisss not feel good, Peeta? Having the power, the control to--”_

_I choke out, “Stop. Please.” His grip gets tighter. The room begins spinning and it becomes harder and harder to breathe._

_“Never! You can’t ssstop me. I’m afraid you are too late.”_

_Just before everything goes dark, I see him completely transform into a snake and strike with his fangs pointed directly at me._

 

 

I shoot out of bed, drenched in a cold sweat, and gasping for air. I touch my neck and frantically search my room for Snow.

Once I convince myself it was all a dream, I start to calm down.

That was my third nightmare in a row.

After my breathing and heart rate are back to normal, I remove my t-shirt and get out of bed. I do what I always do when I can’t sleep: walk around the mansion. I need a distraction, anything to keep me from thinking back to that horrible nightmare.

I begin counting my steps.

 

After counting 286 steps, I begin to feel more relaxed.

Stepping into my room, I sit down on my bench and look out my bay window. I leave one leg on the floor and my arm laying across my bent leg, staring at the dark sky.

It’s still too early. It’ll be another thirty minutes before the sun rises. I decide to pass the time by thinking about the argument between Snow and I that caused my nightmare.

 

 

_“Why did you hesitate, Peeta? Hmm?” Uncle Snow paced in front of me, his hands behind his back, while I stared at his decorative carpet in silence._

_He released a scoff. “Of all days this could have occured, you decided to pull this stunt on your_ last _training day, before you are to be announced as Head Gamemaker. How does that make_ me _look?”_

_I shrug my shoulders, knowing he hates when I do that._

_His shiny shoes step into my line of vision and I prepare myself for the slap across my face or blow to the head. Instead, he grabs my chin forcibly to meet his steely gaze._

_“Answer me.” He says, forcefully._

_“No.” I say._

_SLAP!_

_Funny. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Or maybe I’ve grown accustomed to the pain. The past two years have been met with my uncle’s hands coming across my face more times than I can count._

_I taste blood. That’s new._

_Suddenly, Snow chuckles darkly._

_That’s a bad sign._

_He walks to the corner of the room where an ice bucket sits on a tray. He grabs a towel lying on the side of the bucket, places a few ice cubes inside it, wraps it all together, then hands it over to me. I take it, but don’t put it on my cheek._

_I’m surprised for a second, then it hits me. It’s as I feared. He suspects the truth._

_I make it worse when I can’t look him in the eye._

_We stand shoulder to shoulder and he whispers in my ear smugly. “You won’t admit it, will you? You won’t tell me, so I’ll guess what happened. You learned in that split second, that there is no other alternative besides_ my way _. You can’t be the “savior” you want to be to these people. We need our victor and there is only one way to do it. Therefore, you hesitated.”_

_I was so disgusted with myself for even considering it. I left the Control Room and trudged home without looking back._

_Snow circled around me, then stood silently. Waiting for a response._

_I did think I wouldn’t be this sort of “hero” to all those tributes. I knew there would be times I’d have to go against my wishes and purposely harm, injure or even kill someone. However, I will need to remind myself that I’m not a killer. That, despite the fact that I was born in District One, the Capitol doesn’t own me. That I’m more than just a piece in their Games._

_I stand up straight with my fists clenched at my sides and let my anger out. “I could not give a_ shit _about what you think of me! I’m not like_ you _! I_ have _a heart!”_

_Snow grabs a fistful of my hair and is in my face before I could finish. I yelp out in pain when he tugs hard._

_“Joseph! What gives you the liberty to loosen your tongue and spout foul words in my presence!?” He tugs harder, pulling a few strands of my hair out of my scalp. “Was it from that wretched maid? I’ll have her removed--”_

_“NO! Don’t!”_

_“Not another word of this, then! Or I will make good on my promise of silencing you for good.” Snow releases my hair and moves behind his desk as I rub the throbbing area on my scalp soothingly._

_“Who’s Joseph?”_

_He freezes._

_“Get out.”_

_When I don’t move, he screams. “GET OUT.”_

 

 

I rub my eyes and try to remember how that name is familiar to me. I’ll have to remember to ask Portia about it later.

I can see the sky beginning to change colors. It’ll be ten minutes before sunrise.

 

_Just a little bit longer, Rye._

 

My brother and I used to always watch the sunrise before we’d set out to work at the bakery. I remember he’d disturb my sleep by dragging me out of bed to catch the colors changing in the sky as the sun rose.

I’ve tried making it a habit lately to never miss mine and Rye’s tradition.

Resting my forehead against the glass pane window, I daydream of what my life would be like before the fire that took my family.

 

My parents would have passed the bakery onto me and Rye once they grew too old to manage everything and moved in with our grandparents. I’d imagine Mom and Dad would still drop by to check on the business.

In between serving customers, Rye would be talking my ear off about a new girl he’d met and had yet to charm her panties off for him. He’d give me tips, which I would ignore, on how to get laid. Mark would be there to add his two cents, then I would leave the room having grown tired of their antics.

Rye and I would have the upstairs apartment to ourselves. If Mom and Dad dropped by for dinner, Mom would serve food and ask me if any girl had caught my eye in school yet. If there was a girl, I’d never reveal it in front of Rye. He would pester my friends until one of them admitted who she was. Dad would tell the story of how he met Mom like he always used to. Then Rye would crack a lame joke that would result in Mom hitting him behind the head.

And when it was just me and my brother alone, we would have small food fights during dinner. Rye throwing bread in my direction and me tossing spitballs in his face. Mark might’ve dropped by and us three would stay up late playing card games and sneak into the cabinet Dad keeps his special stash of alcohol in. I’d pass out from being a lightweight and Rye and Mark would draw on my face. The next day, I’d wake up seeing a mustache, or worse, in the mirror.

Rye would eventually find a girl who could tame him and decide to marry her. They would have kids and Rye would be the overprotective dad. I would know since he was always overprotective of me.

My girl would be beautiful and a loving mother to our children. She would be overprotective and strong-willed. I would like two kids, maybe more someday. I’d still be living in the apartment and treasuring everyday with my growing family as I did what I loved to do: bake.

 

Tears start falling down my face at the ideal life I thought of having.

It hurts when I see I’m not in my warm, familiar home surrounded by laughter and life. It’s cold, empty and quiet here in the mansion.

Rye’s not here to make me laugh. Mom isn’t here to give me hugs and kisses. Dad’s not here to teach me something new about baking or to share more stories about his childhood. And my grandparents aren’t here to give me wisdom and hope for good things to come.

I’ve heard stories about people dying of a broken heart. I wonder if I would be one of them because I don’t know how much my heart can keep up with this constant stabbing pain I feel everytime I think of my family.

I’m so lost in my sorrow I almost miss it.

I feel the warm rays of the sun against my face and catch a glimpse of the most beautiful sunrise in my life.

I close my eyes and imagine Rye is next to me.

 

_“There it is, Peeta! I told you it was worth it, didn’t I? Wanna see it again, tomorrow?”_

 

I touch the window and repeat what I said the last morning my brother saw the sunrise.

 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Rye.”

…………..

On my recent appointment with Dr. Aurelius, he informed me of my mood swings, loss of interest in art, my lack of sleep, and dropping a couple pounds are all symptoms of depression.

When asked if I had suicidal thoughts, I said no. Were it not for Portia in the room, the answer would have been different. I didn’t want to scare my friend with how frequent I think about those thoughts nor my small attempts at hurting myself in private.

And Portia being Portia decided an ‘outing’ would help cure my mopiness after hearing my diagnosis. I rolled my eyes at her when she suggested it, then completely freaked when she began leading me towards the front door of the mansion.

“No, P! I’m not going.” I plant my feet and let her pull me across the marble floors.

“Peeta! Stop dragging your feet. You are seventeen years old, quit acting like a child!”

There’s no use in stopping her. She’s stronger than she looks.

I sigh and willingly follow her outside the doors. I can feel the wind blowing in my face, loud voices of people conversing as they amble along the busy roads, bells ringing when someone enters and exits a shop, and smell mouth-watering food coming from numerous vendors around every corner.

Portia has her hands on her hips and a smirk that says, “I win”.

I roll my eyes.

She grins and claps her hands together in triumph before reaching for my hand to lead me into the crowded streets.

 

 

In the next few storefronts we pass, one in particular that has a mannequin in glow-in-the-dark underwear, I start to realize her ‘treatment’ is working. My mood has picked up some with Portia finding something funny to laugh at in every place we pass, whether it be the horrendous clothes or other patrons.

I’m not in any hurry to see this day end as I was earlier.

I am about to admit defeat when Portia stops so abruptly I almost bump into her. Before I can ask her what’s wrong, she gasps out. “Cinna?”

A man in his twenties wearing simple clothing, as opposed to the eccentric clothing I’ve seen today, gold eyeliner that highlights his green eyes and a few bags hanging on his arms, waves at my friend and comes our way.

Cinna wraps his arms around Portia and holds her close, as if they were more than friends. When they step out of their tight embrace, I sneak a look at Portia to see if there is any discomfort. I only find a soft smile gracing her features.

Sensing no danger, I accept Cinna’s outstretched hand and shake it.

He starts speaking before I can open my mouth to greet him. “Hello, Peeta. Portia talks of you often. It’s nice to put a face to the name.”

“Ah--”

Portia pushes me out of the way and jumps in the air with glee. “Oh, Cinna! It’s been so long since...well, I mean, you must tell me of your latest update on your designs. Let’s all grab lunch! Peeta and I have been walking around for hours now. I need to rest my feet.”

I raise my eyebrows at Portia, wondering what she is withholding from me. She ignores me entirely and sprints in the direction to a nearby food shop with tables and chairs outdoors.

Cinna smiles after her for a second, then looks over his shoulder at me and says in a gentle tone, “After you, Peeta.”

 

 

Even after receiving our food, Cinna and Portia are so engrossed in their conversation that they don’t notice me leaving.

What hurts the most is seeing how enamored Portia is with her ‘friend’ Cinna, whom I’ve never heard about until today.

How can she forget me so easily? Am I that replaceable?

Seems she found a new best friend or whatever he is to her. I can tell something is different about how they interact with each other. Cinna reaching for her hand and immediately dropping it. Portia almost running into a sign because she was making googly-eyes at him.

I hated this feeling. Being cast aside for someone who dresses better, is funnier, more outgoing, and friendlier than I could ever be.

I ignore their laughter behind me and head home alone.

 

So much for this trip curing my mopiness.

……...

After watching the sunrise the next morning, I contemplate what exactly happened yesterday with Portia and Cinna.

It’s safe to say I overreacted and should have tried talking to Portia and voice my concerns instead of running away. I know I hurt her feelings by not saying goodbye when our time is limited now that I will spending more time preparing for the Games.

I know she’s here by the calendar she gave me that displays her work schedule. It’s the perfect time to apologize.

I find her sitting on one of the cream couches in the grand living room folding clothes. I’m too ashamed to speak first and wait for her to see me standing in the foyer. She eventually catches sight of me. Her eyes and nose are red and there’s a small handkerchief beside her.

My feet drive me forward and I am in her arms, holding her while she cries silently on my shoulder. I feel even worse about my actions yesterday.

I hold her close and try not to cry.

Portia sniffs and wipes her wet cheeks with her hand. I reach in between us to find the handkerchief she had stowed away and lend it to her.

She dabs under her eyes where she may have missed a few stray tears. “I’m sorry, chickadee. I’m so sorry for being a bad friend to you.”

“No.” I grasp her shoulder, sending her a bewildered look. “I’m the one at fault here.  _I’m_ sorry.”

“Peeta. I hurt you by pushing you away. All you did to me was something I deserved. To feel guilty for ignoring you.”

I can tell Portia is really bothered by what she did when she uses my name.

She groans in pain. “And the purpose of our outing yesterday was to make you forget about your sadness. I’m horrible.” Her head drops in shame. Her short auburn hair shielding her face from my view.

Placing my hand over hers, I squeeze it gently and wait for her to glance up at me. One side of my mouth tilts up. “I’ve already forgiven you. Don’t beat yourself up too much. I just want to know who Cinna is. He’s more than a friend, isn’t he?”

My friend’s hazel eyes grow soft at the mention of Cinna’s name. That’s all the confirmation I need. Not to mention, this is the first I’ve seen her blush. Her pink cheeks makes her dark skin tone even prettier.

I want to smile, but can only grimace at the thought of my friend finding someone new to hang around with more than me.

“I’m happy for you, Portia. Just don’t forget about me. I’ll be here.”

Portia tilts her head in confusion. Then, she lets out a soft “oh” and cups my cheeks.

“You were jealous of Cinna, weren’t you? That’s why you left. Did you think I would replace you with him?”

I swallow and nod.

Portia shakes her head in disbelief, tucking an errant curl behind my ear and tightening her grip to convey how important her next words are to me.

“You are irreplaceable. The days I love the most are the ones I spend time with my special boy. My chickadee.” We laugh at my nickname. Portia rubs my cheek softly. “I am afraid you are stuck with me. I would rather cut off my leg than lose you. You are my family. No matter what happens to me, you are right there beside me. Together.”

A genuine smile appears on my face at her reassurance.

“You know, P. You don’t have to take me anywhere to find happiness. As long as I’m with you, I am.”

She hits me with one of my shirts. “Peeta Mellark! What are you trying to do to me? Stop making me cry!”

 

I am truly thankful I have a friend like Portia in my life.

…………

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 is up and ready to read :)


	5. Everything Changes: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 74th Hunger Games are about to begin.

_One week later_

  
What I feared the most has come.

Tonight is The Reaping.

Of the tributes chosen tonight, only one will remain standing as Victor of the 74th Hunger Games.

  
For the past week, Snow and Plutarch have been prepping me by passing on last minute tips, meeting with the other gamemakers who will be following my commands throughout the Games, being fitted for the outfit that I’ll be wearing when they announce me as Head Gamemaker and such.

I’ve barely had any time to rest. Not like I get any anyway, but still. I’m tired.

I just want this to be over with.

I feel so sorry for Portia because she has to suffer through my constant mood swings. But, of course, she says she “doesn’t mind” to ease my worries. Yet, it makes it worse. It makes me feel even sorrier.

As for my uncle, I have no more energy to fight him on the matter. What’s the point? This is happening and I can’t stop it. At least Portia and Plutarch will still believe I am a good person after all this.

As long as someone knows the truth, I can live with myself.

  
I sigh heavily as I drag my feet to my room.

Portia is already waiting for me on my bed as she pats the spot beside her when I walk in. Before sitting down, I grab my pillow and tuck it behind her back. Motioning with my head for her to scoot back so she can sit comfortably, she obliges and pats my cheek as thanks.

Portia starts the broadcast of The Reaping as I’m finding a comfortable position.

Portia leans over the bed to grab a small tray of food sitting on my bedside table and offers it to me with a smile. I wave the food away while making a face. I cross my arms and slump against the bed frame.

With the stress from the Games looming over my shoulder, I haven’t had much of an appetite to eat.

She drops the tray in her lap and makes a “hmph” sound at my refusal to eat. I almost laugh at her stubbornness.

She puts the tray away, sneaking a snickerdoodle into her apron when I’m not looking, then straightens up. Without warning, she shoves the cookie in my opened mouth as I yawn. I cough out a few chunks of the cookie and throw a harsh glare in her direction.

“Dammit, Portia! Were you trying to kill me?!” I sputter.

She hands me a glass of water, laughing at my expense.

“God, you are so lucky that I’m a nice person! Watch your back, P. You’re going to regret doing that to me.” I furrow my eyebrows and squint dangerously at her, trying to appear threatening. Portia shoves my shoulder at my silliness, drawing a small smile out of me.

The anthem plays on the screen and Caesar Flickerman is announced. His color this year is powder blue, which suits him better than the previous Hunger Games.

I take a bite out of the snickerdoodle and drop my head on Portia’s shoulder as we watch Caesar introduce himself, then address what everyone in the Capitol is waiting for: the Tributes chosen to partake in the Games.

  
“I hope you all are as ready as I am to hear of the lucky tributes that will have the honor of fighting for the glory of being the 74th Victor of The Hunger Games!!” Loud applause and cheers can be heard from the audience.

  
I start to get goosebumps. Portia holds my sweaty hand tightly.

Caesar’s exuberant voice introduces our first tributes of the Games.

  
“Of course, we start with our very own district, District One!”

  
A woman, at least I think it’s a woman, covered with many layers of silk, feathers and bows reaches down one bowl filled to the brim and takes out one slip. She barely has time to reveal the name before the eager volunteers begin to clamor the stage, wanting a chance to be chosen.

They eventually pick one girl and I can see why. Portia does too.

“Hmm.” Portia humms. “That Glimmer girl is quite beautiful. Her stylists won’t have a problem with her. What do you think?”

I shrug my shoulders and offer in a non-committal voice, “She’s pretty.”

“Your type?” Portia leans away enough to see my face. Her eyebrows dance up and down, causing me to blush. I turn away before she can see it.

“Pfft. Yeah, right. I’m not interested in anything like that.” I straighten up and clear my throat.

“And why not?” Portia insists. “She’s pretty, right? I bet she’d go out with you if you asked.” She’s enjoying this. I can hear the grin in her voice.

I groan. “Can we NOT, P?” I finally look her way with pleading eyes. I am so uncomfortable right now.

Portia laughs silently, then turns away. I sigh discreetly and fold my arms across my chest.

I watch the escort draw a name from the boys’ bowl, say it aloud, then the crowd of volunteers once again gather around the stage to be picked. One boy punches another boy to prevent him from jumping on stage.

They choose him as the male tribute.

After District One, we’re introduced to District Two, Three, Four, and so on. Portia makes comments on each tribute, but I stop listening after Three. All their faces begin to blend together.

It gets worse when it’s District Eleven’s turn and a twelve-year-old girl by the name of Rue is drawn from the Reaping bowl.

Portia remains silent. I clench my fists and swallow back the bile rising in my throat.

I can’t hold in my anger and jump out of my seat. “THAT’S NOT FAIR!”

I ignore my tears as I grab fistfuls of my hair and tug until I feel pain. I start hyperventilating. I can’t remember how to breathe.

“That’s _not_ fair, Portia.” My voice cracks as I try to speak.

Portia stands with her hands covering her mouth, her eyes watering either at my reaction or at Rue being chosen as tribute. Maybe both. She’s never really seen me angry.

I pace furiously. My breaths are coming out as huffs, like a bull ready to charge.

I stop and choke up. “I can’t. This isn’t--I--GODDAMMIT.” I kick my bedside table, knocking down the food tray and my lamp to the floor. I fall to the ground in defeat. My head in between my knees and Portia’s arms around me.

I can’t believe I didn’t think about a twelve-year-old being a tribute. It never crossed my mind or I just didn’t want to contemplate it happening. It doesn’t matter now. She’s in.

I whisper. “I hate this.”

Portia doesn’t say anything. We both know there are no words that can make this better.

We stay on the floor and watch District Twelve’s turn.

Portia reaches for my hand again.

Effie Trinket is onstage, grinning and giving her famous phrase to the people of District Twelve. “Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!”

She digs and procures one slip from the girl’s bowl and clears her throat.

  
“Primrose Everdeen!”

  
I shake my head in disbelief. _Not another little girl._

I close my eyes in pain.

But, something odd happens next.

Something unheard of.

  
“I volunteer as tribute!”

  
_A volunteer._

  
I hear Portia gasp beside me. “W-what? A volunteer in that district?”

I open my eyes to see a pretty, black-haired girl on the screen. I can’t see much since the camera is focused on her face. From what I can see, she is wearing a slightly worn and faded blue dress that compliments her olive skin well. Her hair is braided and pinned up. She also looks skinnier than she should be at her age, but that probably has to do with her district. Nonetheless, she still appears beautiful.

  
“And what is your name, dear?” Effie shoves the microphone in front of her face.

She takes a deep breath and murmurs into the mic. “Katniss Everdeen.”

“I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don’t want her stealing all the glory, do we? How about a round of applause to our newest tribute!”  
  
Effie is met with silence. It was then that another odd thing occurs.

The entire crowd raises three middle fingers in the air.

“Just like Momma taught me.” I whisper to myself.

My mother never said where she picked that gesture up from. Only that grandma taught her that it means thanks, admiration, goodbye to someone you love.

It piqued my interest in that girl even more. In Katniss.

After that, they pick a male tribute. No volunteers for him.

 

Portia leaves to sleep in her quarters after the broadcast ends. She sees me reach for the sketchbook I haven’t touched in months. I start to outline Katniss’ face so I won’t forget it.

I catch a glimpse of Portia smiling before she walks out the door.

 

I see Katniss again during the Opening Ceremonies. She and the male tribute are dressed in a simple black unitard from head to toe, a cape and a headpiece that light up with synthetic fire. The crowd loves them as they are heard cheering for District 12 and Katniss’ name. The cameras do too as they are constantly being shown as Snow welcomes all of the tributes.

“Wow!” Portia exclaims from her spot on the cream couch. “Cinna outdid himself. They’re both breathtaking in their costumes.”

“She is, isn’t she?”

If I could see myself at that moment, I would see admiration and softness in my eyes. The same look Portia has when she sees Cinna. The same look my parents had for each other when they first met and for the many years after.

“Hey, I think you have a little bit of drool right here.” Portia points at the corner of her mouth with a smirk on her face. I quickly wipe away any, but find none.

I kick her foot while she laughs at me.

  
……..

  
I spin a full three-sixty for Snow as he checks there is nothing amiss on my Head Gamemaker suit. I stand with my back straight and head up as he steps closer. I hold my breath when I am hit with the stench of blood and roses.

“You must be nervous. I was nervous as well when I became President.” He drops a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it to bring me comfort when it really offers none. “Don’t worry. You’ve been training for this moment for the past two years and served under Plutarch Heavensbee. You’ll do well. Won’t you, my son?”

“Yes, sir.”

Snow grabs my arm and pivots me in his direction. He’s grinning, his eyes lit up in excitement. I try not to flinch.

He sighs contentedly. “My son. My boy. You look ready to make me proud. This is a shining moment for you, my son. Cherish it. As I cherish being President to Panem everyday.”

 

  
As I head to the Training Center, Snow’s words from a few weeks ago echo in my head.

How can I face these innocent people knowing what I will have to do to ensure only one comes out alive? How do I kill a twelve-year-old girl with a family waiting for her return? And the others too? They have families, lives, futures.

Now, I am the true holder of their fate.

I stop walking.

To murder innocent people will cost everything I am. Am I ready to pay that price?

  
What will _she_ think of me?

  
I arrive at the door of the upstairs balcony where the Gamemakers reside and enter. I greet a few people, then cross the floor to find all the tributes practicing with some weapons, hand-to-hand combat and getting familiar with their opponents.

I spot her braid around the snares station. I observe her as she attempts to tie a knot.

She immediately makes eye contact with me, as if she could feel my gaze on the back of her head.

Then I see her grey eyes.

In that instant, I remember Portia’s attempt to pair me with someone and I refusing to think anyone could have the slightest interest in me. I didn’t think I deserved it; to be loved when I have no heart to return that love. My heart and spirit died with my family years ago. Yet, I felt something tugging in the center of my chest when I look at Katniss. I can feel the blood in my veins pumping through my system, feel my senses awaken, my still heart moving again.

It’s like I’m coming alive. Like I was waiting for something or someone to take me out of this darkness and into the light.

  
I feel a sense of calmness in her eyes. I can’t help but trust her.

 

_I’m a goner._

……...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are your thoughts about what happens next? I'd love to hear them.  
> See you guys in the next chapter!


	6. Take a Leap of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss' world changes when her little sister is chosen to be a Tribute for the Games. Knowing what she must do to keep Prim safe, Katniss volunteers in her place.
> 
> Saying goodbye to her family was difficult when she knew it'll be the last time she would ever see them. But, Prim's promise for her to win gives Katniss something to focus on.
> 
> Until a set of cerulean eyes knocks her concentration off course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! It's certainly been a few months since I've last posted and for that, I apologize. 
> 
> I wasn't in the right state of mind to write for a while. The thing about depression is it sneaks up on you when you least expect it. After I was okay enough, I dove right into completing ch6 and sent it off to Danielle, my beta. I made some more changes to the chapter, sent that back to her and received some feedback and now I'm posting the finished product. 
> 
> I feel satisfied with it and I hope you guys feel the same too. 
> 
>  
> 
> *Meant to put this disclaimer up earlier but forgot: The Hunger Games and characters involved in this fic belong to Suzanne Collins.

 

There must be something wrong with me.

 

I should be thinking about other things, important things, like how I’m going to keep Prim’s promise of staying alive, trying to keep Haymitch sober in the hopes he can mentor me or what I’ll have to say to gain sponsors.

 

But I can’t. For some odd reason, I drift back to the training center. To the tall, mysterious man with cerulean eyes that seem more beautiful the more I think of them.

 

I smack my forehead to get the image of his piercing gaze out of my mind.

 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” I chastise myself. My district partner throws an odd look my way, then backs further away from me in the elevator. I ignore him for the rest of the ride up to our level.

 

I breathe a sigh of relief as the doors open on our floor, then immediately scowl as I see Effie speed walk toward us. Her eager smile and the bounce in her step makes me think this conversation will drag on longer than I have the patience for.

 

Making up a lie about having an upset stomach, I dash to find Haymitch before she realizes I’m gone.

 

Haymitch’s feet poking out of the couch are what greet me first as I step into the room where we watch Caesar and Claudius Templesmith on the screen discussing all things about the Games.

 

I step around the red sofa until I’m staring down at a man in desperate need of a shower. He is snoring so loudly, I feel like my ears are bleeding. He’s spread-eagled with his left hand holding a shiny, silver container that I suspect is the reason why he’s still asleep at this hour.

 

Noticing his head elevated by a pillow, I reach over to pull it out and then smack his face with it.

 

That wakes him.

 

“Arrrrgh!” He groans, his hand rubbing across his face. Bleary-eyed from his drinking and from being woken abruptly, Haymitch struggles to right himself on the plush furniture. He greedily gulpes down what was left inside his flask, then he tosses it beside him after.

 

I scoff. “And here I thought you were keeping your word to Effie. You know you’re not fooling anyone. Why do you hide it?”

 

Haymitch leans his head back, eyes closed and releases a long pent-up sigh. He dodges my questioning and instead demands, “What do you want that’s so important you had to disrupt my afternoon nap for?”

 

I hesitate.

 

For a brief moment, I reconsider informing Haymitch about this strange man who has been on my mind since we first laid eyes on each other. Knowing Haymitch, he’ll find this funny and tease me relentlessly.

 

 

Do I really want to do this?

 

 

But maybe if I learn more about him, I can get back to focusing on the task of being able to survive the Games with _no distractions_.

 

Facing my mentor head-on, I demand. “Who is the Head Gamemaker?”

 

His head jerks forward quickly. He looks dumbstruck before barking out, “ _That’s_ what you woke me up for? A _name?!_ ” He shakes his head regrettably. “I coulda been--”

 

I cut him off. “Save it. Who is he?”

 

“Why? What’s it to you, sweetheart?” He fires back.

 

I can’t come up with a good enough reason that’ll not make me sound like a lovesick teenager, so I stay silent.

 

Haymitch smirks, but he does as I say and answers my burning question.

 

“His name is Peeta Mellark. This is his first Games as the Head Gamemaker. He’s also Snow’s nephew and rumored to be our next President after Snow.” He leans forward, his smirk stretching to a grin. “Wanna know if he’s single too?”

 

I should’ve known he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

 

I leave just as Haymitch begins to laugh uproariously.

 

I don’t stop until I’ve stumbled upon a door that leads to the roof of the building.

 

Once I emerge, I take in my surroundings. I find a small garden to my right that forms a circle with a bench in the center of it. I spot a few daisies in between some violet flowers that remind me of the time Prim brewed a tea with a daisy she found on the road heading home.

 

On my left, there is a balcony that overlooks the Capitol with a sunset painting the sky a beautiful orange color as the backdrop.

 

I amble over and rest my hands on the railings.

 

 

The pleasant memory of Prim’s tea, the fresh air and the sun setting all give a calming atmosphere that I can’t help but release my anger and bask in the peaceful moment.

 

 

After a while, I don’t feel the need to strangle Haymitch. I drift back to what he said earlier about the man, Peeta, who has been plaguing my thoughts.

 

From the short glance I got of him, Peeta didn’t appear to be malicious or threatening. Which is surprising as I assumed anyone related to President Snow, of all people, must be by nature. If anything, Peeta’s the opposite.

 

When I go back to that moment we shared, I recall the mix of emotions playing across his face: Surprise. Sadness. Guilt. Longing.

 

Longing for what? _Me?_

 

Why? What about me caught his attention?

 

 

What about him has caught mine?

 

 

_“Wanna know if he’s single too?”_

 

One thing I’m certain of is this can’t be a crush. I would have to like Peeta and I don’t. The only reason for my sudden interest in him is for curiosity’s sake.

 

Right?

 

I drop my head in my hands, moaning miserably at getting nowhere to solving my problem.

 

………

 

Upon entering the training room for my private session with the Gamemakers a few days later, I notice two things.

 

One: The Gamemakers are entirely focused on themselves and the wine carts that they completely ignore me. And two: Peeta is nowhere to be found.

 

I tried to imagine Peeta as the enemy, someone I can hate. Yet every time I step foot inside a room, I always find myself searching for him. Only to come to the same result: He is never there.

 

I can’t help but feel disappointed at another no-show.

 

It’s been three days. Where could he be?

 

I sigh.

 

“It doesn’t matter.” I tell myself, willing to believe it.

 

Instead of mulling over someone who is failing at his job being a Head Gamemaker, I pick up the bow I’ve had my eye on but could not touch per my drunk mentor’s orders. I grab a few arrows then plant myself in front of a row of targets.

 

This bow’s weight is lighter and the tautness of the string is vastly different than the bow my father handcrafted for me, but I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it.

 

I try and get a feel for the weapon to find my rhythm.

 

Soon, I begin to make progress as my arrows hit the bullseye.

 

Satisfied after delivering some good shooting, I drop the bow and see if anyone was watching my performance.

 

One salutes me with his glass flute filled with a bubbly liquid and another is clapping much too aggressively to be normal.

 

 

I almost miss him.

 

 

He stands to the side, away from the other Gamemakers, with a small smile gracing his features.

 

Peeta.

 

He came after all.

 

If possible, Peeta seems more handsome. He’s wearing a suit tailored to his figure instead of a robe like the others are currently in. It’s all black, except for his red tie. If I look closely, I can tell his eyes are shining a little brighter. The color turning into a softer blue. And his smile seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me.

 

Then, he does something I never expected.

 

He winks at me.

 

Stunned at his boldness, I look away to hide my burning cheeks. This sets my sight on the inebriated, delirious men who have their sole attention on a roast pig having just arrived on their banquet table.

 

I’m being ignored for a _pig_.

 

My life is on the line and they don’t even have the decency to pay attention to me.

 

 

I don’t think twice about what I do next.

 

 

I raise my bow and aim.

 

The arrow skewers the apple in the pig's mouth and pins it to the wall behind it. All eyes, including Peeta’s, land on me.

 

“Thank you for your consideration,” I say. Then I give a slight bow and walk straight toward the exit without looking back.

 

……….

 

Worried over my stunt a few hours ago, I have trouble eating later that evening. As soon as I was able to, I excused myself and fled to my room. Out of the view of everyone and in the safety of my sleeping quarters, I fling myself to my bed and sob.

 

 

What have I done?

 

 

I let the feeling of being ignored drive me to do something that could cost me my life. I wouldn’t be surprised if a guard shows up at my door to come arrest me. Or would they execute me?

 

What of my family?

 

Will they send Prim to the community home and my mother to prison? Or worse, kill them for my actions?

 

No. I can’t think like that.

 

Knowing the spot I discovered days before can calm me down, I wipe away my tears, get out of bed and take the familiar path to the roof.

 

When I pull the handle down and push the door, the thing I notice first is how chilly the air is tonight. There is no moon, so the only light sources are those that shine endlessly in the Capitol and the small sensor light that hangs above the door.

 

The second is I’m not alone.

 

There’s a tall figure leaning against the railing across from me. They are completely cloaked in darkness that, were it not for the gasp they emitted at my arrival, I would have assumed I was the only one here.

 

As they begin to approach me, I reach for the door handle. Before I can run away, a masculine voice calls out for me to stop.

 

 

“Wait, Katniss!” he pleads.

 

 

Shocked they know my name, I turn back around and face them warily with the door left ajar.

 

Was I right before?

 

Is this the guard who is taking me away?

 

Has he been waiting for me to come up here all this time?

 

 

Fear enters my system as they take a cautious step in my direction.

 

 

“I’m sorry if I scared you. I didn’t mean to.”

 

Does he think I’m stupid?

 

I’m not falling for that.

 

I surreptitiously slip closer and closer to the exit, but he seems to catch on to what I’m doing. He steps into the light with his hands raised in surrender.

 

To my astonishment it’s Peeta.

 

He still looks the same from the last time I saw him, only his hair changed. His curls are no longer swept back, instead, they’re all over the place. As if he was running his hands through them.

 

“I won’t hurt you, I promise.” His gentle tone eases my nerves, halting my movements.

 

Peeta pauses, making sure I don’t flee, then he lowers his arms to his sides. He sighs happily, relieved I stayed.

 

 

We’re both at a loss for words.

 

 

I secretly take this chance to examine Peeta’s face and find he has small freckles peppering his nose, a cleft chin, and eyelashes so long that I don’t see how they keep from getting all tangled up when he blinks. All things I couldn’t know unless I was close enough to touch him.

 

I know I’m caught staring when Peeta smiles crookedly at me, revealing another physical characteristic I didn’t know before: a small dimple in his right cheek.

 

 

The butterflies in my stomach bounce around in a frenzy when Peeta looms closer to me.

 

 

From the corner of my eye, I watch as he starts to reach for my arm. His hand is shaking like a leaf, so he quickly darts it down to his side. His hand balls into a fist when his fingers begin to twitch.

 

Peeta also tries to speak, but nothing comes out at first. He rubs his neck, laughing it off, but I don’t have to see his ears turning pink to know that he’s embarrassed.

 

For some reason, his nervousness brings a tentative smile out of me.

 

It brings me comfort that Peeta is just as nervous and lost at what to do at this moment as I am.

 

Deciding I should make this easier for him, I shorten the distance between us by taking a deliberate step forward. I have to tilt my head back due to our height difference.

 

 

Peeta looks more composed and less panicky at my effort. His eyes twinkle in the dim light behind me.

 

 

I’m hoping he can’t hear my heart beating out of my chest when he moves closer. His shoes are touching mine now.

 

I inhale his scent and I am not disappointed. He smells so good, like cinnamon and freshly baked bread.

 

 

Peeta breaths out, “Hi, Katniss.” There’s a trace of wonder in his voice as if he finds my name something akin to special.

 

I gulp and mouth. “Hi, Peeta.”

 

This time when he stretches his arm out in front of me, strong and steady, he keeps it there.

 

My gaze flicks to his open palm and his welcoming expression.

 

I bite my lip.

 

I cannot deny my feelings for Peeta any more. In the short time we’ve gotten to know each other, I can admit I do harbor a strong connection to him. So much so that I’d rather cut off my arm than to leave Peeta’s side right now.

 

Yet, there’s the fact that he’s a Gamemaker and I’m a Tribute.

 

What happens when I set foot in the Arena?

 

Will he kill me or spare me?

 

 

What kind of relationship is this?

 

How long will it last?

 

 

Peeta, seeing how torn I am over deciding what to do, takes his outstretched hand and places it gently on my shoulder in a comforting manner. Bending forward to my eye level, he murmurs. “Katniss, we can simply talk. Or if you don’t wish to, I can leave you in peace and we can forget this ever happened. We don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

 

He stands to his full height, a corner of his mouth turned down to reveal how much it’ll sadden him if I choose to forget this. Forget him.

 

 

I don’t want to forget and I don’t want him to leave.

 

 

Just the thought of him doing so makes me want to grab his suit lapel and never let go.

 

 

And with that, I think I’ve made up my mind.

 

I think I knew what it would be all along.

 

It was inevitable.

 

I grasp Peeta’s hand, the one not on my shoulder, and interlace our fingers together. I tighten my hold.

 

 

“Don’t go. I trust you, so stay.”

 

 

Peeta rubs his thumb across the back of my hand, fixing a steely-eyed gaze on me.

 

 

I know his answer before he voices it.

 

 

“Always.”

………..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? Hate it? Haha!
> 
> I find it really cheesy but that's just me. 
> 
> I'll be back to writing soon after I finish season 7 of Once Upon A Time. DON'T SPOIL IT FOR ME.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to get in touch? Check my bio for more info and happy reading! Comments are a necessity :D


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